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by HPswl_cumbercookie



Series: Johnlock Playlist [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Major Character Undeath, Post-Reichenbach, Reverse Reichenbach, Stream of Consciousness, Temporary Character Death, but not really, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-11-24 16:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18167627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPswl_cumbercookie/pseuds/HPswl_cumbercookie
Summary: Based loosely off the song "Hotel Ceiling" by Rixton. Sherlock is away after The Fall, and finds out that John is dead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first in a series of stories based off of songs from Inevitably-Johnlocked's Johnlock Playlist, or songs I have found that are similar to that. I have no idea how many of these there will be, nor how often they will come out, but I plan to keep this up for a while. I will also be recording some of the songs and adding them here as well. Thanks so much for reading, and I'm super sorry for the angst fest.
> 
> This story will update every two days.

_ Oblivion _

 

Sweet, empty oblivion.

 

A blessed gift from the crystalline amber of an empty bottle, swirling the world before his eyes.

 

It swims and swirls and cartwheels, a modge podge of polka dots dashing across the spackled ceiling. 

 

The cushion of the crisp, fresh linens beneath him is no comfort. The blare of the newscaster surrounds him, engulfs him, drowns him in the cacophony of unintelligible words and music. Only 4 words have made it through the impenetrable barrier of his harried thoughts.

 

John. Watson. Is. Dead.


	2. Chapter 2

_ John Watson is dead. Best known as right hand man to London’s dearly departed fake detective, Sherlock Holmes, the man was found dead in the flat he shared with Holmes late last night. We don’t have very much information as of yet, but it appears to have been a suicide; unsurprising considering the death of his close friend, and often suspected lover, Sherlock Holmes, 2 and a half months ago when he too committed suicide by jumping off of London’s St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Detective Inspector Lestrade of New Scotland Yard agreed to give us a few words on his investigation. Hello Detective Inspector, thank you so much for joining us. _

 

_ Yes, erm, your welcome.  _

 

_ Inspector, what can you tell us about the death of John Watson? _

 

_ Not much yet, we are still waiting for test results from the laboratory and an autopsy to confirm cause of death, but it appears he ingested a large amount of alcohol and sleeping medication in very short succession, causing him to overdose and die very quickly. He was found by the landlady, who lives in the flat below. _

 

_ Now, we were informed that you knew Holmes and Watson both personally, could you elaborate on that relationship? _

 

_ They’ve been good mates of mine for a long time. It’s been very hard to see them both go, but after Sherlock’s good name was sullied by the numerous allegations against him, which myself and John Watson were working together on clearing, he was destroyed and took it upon himself to end it, and John followed, because those two men . . . ahem, whew . . .a closer and more perfect pair you will never meet. _

 

_ Thank you for your time Detective Inspector, we are extremely sorry for your loss and wish you well.  _

 

_ Thank you.  _

 

_ And that was Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. We wish the friends and family of the duo our deepest sympathies here at the BBC. If anyone wishes to send sympathy cards or flowers, they can be left at Paddington Cemetery, or they can be sent to their home at 221 Baker Street. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Chapter 3 will be up on Saturday. sorry for the brusque notes, I don't want to ruin the mood of this story with my excessive talking.


	3. Chapter 3

Onyx curls, once stunning in their fanciful unruliness, are now knotted and matted, plastered to the forehead of the supine figure beneath them. Stringy, oily coils lay in marked contrast to the soft plume that usually adorns the head. A pale hand comes up holding the thin neck of a miniature cure, a temporary one. A tepid, shudder-inducing, amber cure for all one’s ailments and maladies of the heart and the mind. A quick swig and a shiver runs down his spine, the clinking of hollow glass follows the shifting of the covers, and he turns over into the lush cushion of the pillows, hiding his face from a world he’d like nothing better than to depart from, but he still has a job to do. 

 

Just because John is gone doesn’t mean that Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson are out of danger. Still The Spider’s web lurks around the edges of every known consciousness, just beyond the peripheral vision, shielding The Spider as it stalks its prey, preparing to strike with quick and deadly accuracy. He has to keep moving, to India, and then to Czechoslovakia, and then to Serbia, and then home. 

 

But, where is home if the one thing that made it home is gone? Dead by their own hand?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to leave you guys hanging in limbo for so long, but I promise stuff actually starts happening soon, we just needed the build up. Your comments, kudos, and any other means of love are extremely appreciated and know that I love you all immensely. I'll see you again on Monday!


	4. Chapter 4

A knock at the door.

 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

 

Even. Measured. Polite, almost.

 

He doesn’t answer. The sound barely registers through the swirling, empty fog of his mind.

 

_ Knock, Knock, Knock. _

 

More insistent. Demanding. 

 

A beep. The click of a door handle. Soft, deliberate footsteps on thin, worn carpet.

 

Step. Step. Step. Ste﹣

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

“Sherlock?” A questioning drawl. A question? What?

 

“What? Mycroft, what’s wrong?” That voice. Warm, sunny, golden. Fills me up. It’s gone now, why is it here?

Shaking, shifting, clinking of empty bottles, a swath of them, surrounding like a blanket, protecting from the world.

 

“Jesus, Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?” Warm hands, cold inside, hollow, empty, like the bottles, not really there.

 

“Mycroft, you need to get an ambulance. Now.” Steps away, taps on a screen, quiet voice, faraway.

 

“Sherlock. Sherlock, if you can hear me I need you to stay awake. You need to stay with me, okay. Stay right here.”

 

Can’t, got to go to John. Need John. John is home. Home. Darkness. Fading. Faraway voices.

 

Peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, for everything. I feel like I'm just constantly teasing you poor poor souls, but I'm so proud of this story anyways. I hope this chapter at least provided some relief from the tension. See you lovelies Wednesday!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry for not posting yesterday!! I was feeling really sick and completely forgot. Anyways, here it is!

Harried sun. Warming. Warmth. Worry.

Bright lights. Shining. Burning.

A groan.

“Sherlock? Sherlock, if you can hear me, you have to stay with me, we’re almost to hospital. Mycroft is going to meet us there. You need to stay awake for me.”

Distant sirens. Blaring. Pounding. Blinding.

Foreign hands, touching. Poking, prodding, pinching.

A groan.

Fumbling fingers reaching, searching, engulfed in searing, gleaming comfort.

Gagging, choking, spitting. Cold metal, frigid plastic, pushing down, down, down.

Darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last one, our journey is almost through! Thank you guys so much for enjoying this, and I look forward to posting the final chapter this Sunday, which is more of an epilogue.

Beep.

 

Beep.

 

Beep.

 

Rustling.

 

A choked gag.

 

Sudden warmth. 

 

Peace.

 

“Sherlock? Sherlock. It’s alright. You’re in hospital. Can you stay awake for me? I’m going to call the nurse but you need to stay awake.”

 

Calm, female, high-pitched. Cool, professional hands. Bright light. Cool metal on sweat slick skin.

 

“I’ll go get the doctor and we can see about removing the breathing tube.”

 

Comforting hands brush away his curls, gentle on the pounding, throbbing skin and bone. He holds his hand up to inspect it. The IV stark against his ashen skin, his hand shaking uncontrollably, even as he clenches his fist to stop the motion.

 

“Just an after effect of alcohol poisoning. It will go away soon. Don’t try to talk until they remove the tube. Just tap once for yes and twice for no. Hopefully they’ll be able to take out the tube right away.”

 

“Awwwnnnnnngg” He gargles around the tube down his throat.

 

“I’m right here Sherlock, I’m right here. I’m so sorry. I am so so sorry. I had no idea Mycroft didn’t tell you. If I’d known I would have insisted on it. He came to me a week or so ago, he explained to me what happened, what  _ really _ happened that day at Bart’s, and told me that you were going to go after Moriarty’s syndicate. He knew you wanted to tell me, but couldn’t risk the snipers finding out you were alive, so he planned this so I could join you. He didn’t tell me that you’d be left in the dark.”

 

“It was for his own safety. He was working undercover in New York and couldn’t risk being found out. It was the only way to maintain his cover. I did not plan on him finding out about your “death” Dr. Watson, before your reunion. It was a grave error on my part. I’m sorry Little Brother. Truly.”

 

Tap.

 

“He’s says yes, which I assume means it’s okay.”

 

Tap.

 

“Yes. Alright. Well, the doctor should be back any minute to look you over. Rest now.”

 

Tap.


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we have reached the end. Thank you all so much for your love and appreciation. I was so surprised that this fleeting idea has gotten so much lovely appreciation. Thank you all so much.

One year they were away together, travelling the world. Together they defeated tremendous foes and unbeatable adversaries. They returned to Baker Street together, hand in hand. No scars, no hidden wounds or words or feelings. They curled up together on the sofa in their sitting room, telly playing softly in the background, tea cooling in their mugs on the coffee table. Their legs intertwined against the cool leather, one clean, curly head leant gently on a solid, muscular shoulder. Four eyes closed in restful slumber, two mouths breathed soft, loving breaths back and forth between them, two lips swept lightly over warm, smooth skin, two bodies, two hearts, two souls, intertwined, inseparable in every way. 

 

Two rings shone together in the waning afternoon glow of the setting sun.

 

Home.

 

Home at last.


End file.
